


Are You Here for the Shooting?

by footinsink



Category: Zootopia (2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Chance Meetings, First Meetings, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-04
Updated: 2019-12-09
Packaged: 2021-03-04 17:53:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21664969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/footinsink/pseuds/footinsink
Summary: Judy Hopps leaves her job as a promising investigative print reporter to get married and make babies in Bunnyburrow. But things don’t go as planned. Two years later -- her marriage over, a baby and momentum gone, her confidence in tatters -- Judy returns to news. She’s back at square one, stuck with another bunny’s name and her acclaim a distant memory; writing quick hits and fluffy pacers for 9 News Now, Zootopia’s lowest-ranked television news station.Then she crosses paths with Detective Nicholas P. Wilde, Zootopia Police Department’s notoriously tight-lipped Public Information Officer. Things take a turn.
Comments: 10
Kudos: 44





	1. Chapter 1

Judy’s Nibble app buzzed.

She still had three voiceovers to write and a 3-minute reporter story from the morning show to break down into a 45-second hit. All the same, she looked away from her computer screen to clandestinely glance at the notification from the Bunnyburrow-headquartered matchmaking app.

Unable to resist, she pawed in her CarrotPhone unlock code.

_“So what did you have for breakfast today? Do you cook?”_ asked GymisLifeBunny84.

Ugh.

Judy quelled a sigh that would have been drowned out by the multiple police scanners at the assignment desk anyway. She’d promised herself for the thousandth time to uninstall these mind-numbing apps. Maybe if she did she’d finally start her novel instead of burning the midnight oil futilely swiping right on non-contenders. Perhaps it would be easier to simply throw her phone out the window.

Judy knew deep down she wasn't ready for a relationship. She was still coming off the heels of a brutal divorce. Her body was still raw from losing a kit. _Not yet, not yet not yet, _her subconscious whispered. _Your time is coming._

Judy turned back to the 5 p.m. show rundown and started knocking out voiceover scripts. When she was done she scrolled over to the graphics tab and dutifully began to check lower-third banners. The story slugs pricked her with trauma and drama. Ada Suricata was covering a shooting in Sahara Square. Theo Simum was fronting a school start time debate in Little Rodentia. Tahera Uncia was on an abandoned cub in Tundratown.

The clock ticked ever closer to 5 p.m.

It was 3:43 p.m. when she heard a phone ring at the assignment desk. The assignment editor answered, the badger’s tone morphing from resigned placidity to annoyance to anger. Judy shrank in her seat and tried not to let her sympathetic nervous system get involved. It wasn’t about her.

David Honeygatherer slammed the phone down, fuming. “I’ve told the photographers a hundred times, always take a backup unit. Always. But does anymammal listen to me? No, because that would make too much sense.”

Ebony Onca, Judy’s executive producer, or EP, lifted her head from her workstation.

“What happened, Honey-G?” asked the jaguar.

“Ada’s live truck is dead. Her photog has no way to transmit the shooting package,” David said. “And they couldn’t grab a backup because they were all checked out when they left. Eddie grabbed one for the President Trumpet rally not realizing I kitted their live truck the night before, but does anymammal read my night note? Of course not. I’m gonna kill that possum. Jeremy just came back with one.”

“Anymammal you can spare to take it to them?”

“No mammal. I mean, literally no mammal. I’ve got animalia sick or on vacation and everymammal on schedule is spread so thin they’re translucent. Now the PIO is on his way out to talk to them.”

The EP mulled it over. Then she turned to Judy.

“Hey, Judy?” she called in a sing-song voice. “What are you doing right now?”

Judy’s long ears perked up. “Me?”

Ebony rolled her eyes. “Do you see any other bunnies named Judy? Yes, you.”

“I’m just checking lower-thirds. I mean, I was just going over them again.”

“Great!” chirped the EP. “So you’re free.” She turned to David. “Let the intern prompt the 5 o’clock show. Judy can take a backup to Ada at the scene.”

She can? “I can?” Judy asked. She steadied voice_. This is your time._ “I can,” she stated.

“Fine by me,” David griped. He grabbed a station vehicle key from the pegboard and practically launched it at Judy. To her credit, she didn’t fumble the catch. “Take Unit 13 and Backpack 2 -- and don’t forget to mark it on the sign-out sheet!” he hollered as she high-tailed it to the equipment room.

Judy sped down the Inner Loop toward Savanna Central after spending a good 10 minutes roaming the gated 9 News Now parking lot frantically looking for Unit 13. She had finally pressed the key fob in desperation and realized Unit 13 was actually Unit 3 -- Somemammal had peeled the “1” off the bumper because they thought 13 was bad luck.

She tried not to think too hard about that as she tore down the most dangerous interstate in Zootopia.

Judy stopped just shy of screeching into Zootopia PD because getting pulled over on the way to a police department would just be too on-the-nose. Plus she’d never live it down and Ebony would never trust her to go above and beyond again. She’d probably die at the teleprompter, one paw still on the rotator knob.

To her surprise and relief the reporter and photographer weren’t hopping frantic. The story package was edited and she’d arrived with 25 minutes to spare, an eternity in television. Her shoulders relaxed a little as she realized she was among seasoned professionals. It was just another day in live news.

“Thanks Judy,” said Ada, her eyes crinkling as her photographer took Backpack 2 and started booting it up. “You’re a lifesaver. Want to stick around when we talk to the PIO?”

“Oh, gee Ada, I would. But I should probably head back—" Judy started, and then her phone rang.

It was Ebony. “You were supposed to call me when you got there.”

“Oh, I just did, I was about to –“

“Doesn’t matter now, we see their picture up.” Ebony's voice gentled. “Thanks, Judy. You came in clutch. You’re free to go home after this.”

The receiver clicked.

Judy was still getting reacquainted with the emotional whiplash that came with working in a newsroom. Yell until it’s done, and then pick the salt out of the wounds you dealt.

Judy turned to Ada. “I’d love to stay.”

The winter sun was dropping sooner than anymammal liked and the PIO still wasn’t there.

Ada checked her CarrotPhone.

“Ugh, _Wilde _is the on-call tonight_._ He just started and already I can’t stand him. Never returns media calls and I think he’s still sore over the way I grilled him last week when the bodycam footage came out of that officer slamming a moose at Lululemmings into the ground.”

Judy’s ears pricked up.

“You don’t mean – is his name _Nicholas_ Wilde?”

Ada’s eyes widened. “You KNOW him? How?”

“Um, not really. We kinda went to school together.”

“Kinda?”

“He went to my high school, for a bit. I was a freshman. We had AP History together. He was a senior and ... I don’t know what happened. He stopped coming to class. I thought he changed schools.”

“I have so many questions,” Ada said. The door of the police department opened, a flash of setting sun glinted off the glass. “But no time. He’s here. Let’s do this.”

Nick Wilde approached their live truck like a fox walking toward his execution, squinting in the lights Ada’s photographer had set up.

His eyes adjusted, then widened in surprise.

He drew in a breath.

“Judy?”


	2. Chapter 2

Judy turned into the 9 News Now station parking lot, bypassing the gated employee lot for the non-reserved row next to visitor parking because she couldn’t figure out how to scan the barcode on her gate pass.

She was too embarrassed to ask the security guard again; the sloth took three hours last time.

Judy cut the engine and carefully extracted her purse, lunch satchel and travel mug of piping hot carrot broth she’d made in a saucepan on the stove of her apartment kitchenette at the Grand Pangolin Arms.

The sensor at the main entrance read Judy’s door pass through her purse as she held it up, carefully balancing her lunch bag in the same paw and mug in the other. She shouldered into the lobby.

Judy checked her reflection in the mirror-backed award showcase by the entrance. She looked every bit the news professional, even though she didn’t feel it. She’d brushed and blow-dried the fur around her face until it gleamed like fine silk. Her eyes shone larger due to the eyeliner she’d meticulously applied. Three months in and Judy still wore her badge around her neck like an intern: First, out of fear of being called out as an imposter; and second, a tiny hint of pride at being back in news.

Judy pawed past the creative services department, where all the station promos were dreamt up; past the poinsettias at the elevator that went up one floor to the monastery-like account executive and administration floor; past the back-lit posters of this season’s television show du jour.

The din of the newsroom grew louder.

Judy quietly hugged the bullpen wall as she entered and avoided eye contact lest anymammal not realize she was there early and rope her into writing. She needn't worry -- The row of television sets mounted on the wall over the assignment desk were set to competitor news channels – all simultaneously broadcasting the President Trumpet impeachment hearings, differentiated only by proprietary banner graphics and color hues.

A gavel banged repeatedly. The hearing was getting heated, apparently. "The gentlemammal's time will resume!" Judy overheard. "Thank you, Mr. Chairmammal --"

Judy locked up her purse in her drawer and stashed her lunch box in the fridge of the dilapidated and reasons-why-unknown carpeted breakroom, taking shallow breaths to avoid the odor of mold.

Judy turned the corner and the sound of the hearing grew fainter as Lester Colt broke in to introduce a trio of pundits.

She reached a vacant row of edit bays. She pushed against the sliding glass door of Edit Bay 4, then slid it shut behind her. She sat down at the double monitors, carefully setting down her carrot broth at a safe distance from the keyboard. She shook the cursor and the monitor came to life.

After logging in (jhoppes, password YouGotThis5!) Judy clicked open the folder which held the raw footage from Ada’s shooting interview. She sorted the clips so the largest file size appeared at the top – her usual technique to find the talking head footage amid a dozen establishing shots of the scene which were usually around 10 seconds, and thus smaller.

Judy’s pulse thumped. This wasn’t just any talking head though, was it? She clicked open the video clip and hit play, transported back to that night.

As Wilde rattled off his police-talk spiel to Ada, Judy studied him discreetly. Gone was the lanky, noodle-limbed fox she knew from high school who sat in front of her in AP Animalia World History. A fox she’d secretly thought was cute. Detective Nick Wilde was _handsome_, in a world-on-his-shoulders kind of way. His arms were threaded with sinew and his abdomen pressed slightly against his uniform shirt, speaking to maturity and good health, a type of body hardened not just from the gym but from chasing perps on the street. From fighting for his life.

He looked weary. He looked tested. He looked good.

He looked, wow. Really good.

“Judy, do you have any questions?”

Ada was talking to her. She recovered well.

“Anything we’re neglecting to ask, Detective Wilde?” Judy asked. It was a question she'd asked without fail at the end of all her interviews as a print reporter, usually with great results.

Nick hesitated. His jaw worked. Then he met her eyes properly for the first time. She felt like squirming under his laser-focused gaze and wanted to look away. She didn’t, and kept her chin lifted evenly with his. Judy didn’t know what he saw but his shoulders relaxed imperceptibly. He made a decision.

“911 calls,” Nick said simply. “Mateo’s already put them on FTP but I wasn’t planning on sending a link out until tomorrow.”

He flipped a wire notebook open to a blank page, holding it in his right paw as he scribbled down a URL. Judy was reminded Nick was left-pawed. He eschewed ripping along the perforated line to yanking it right from the hole punches, something he always did in high school that made Judy grit her teeth. Judy outstretched her forelimb and Nick pressed the note into the sole of her paw, his fur shirring against hers briefly.

Judy kept her paw steady as she pulled it back. She held the paper like a specimen, bemusedly turning it back and forth. “Some things never change, huh, Wilde?”

Nick smiled. Faint, but an honest-to-Artemis smile.

And then she saw it. The gleaming ring on his fourth metacarpal. He saw her notice and the smile disappeared. Officer Wilde returned.

Ada did a good job of pretending her jaw wasn’t about to hit the pavement and steeled herself into a picture of the ever-composed reporter. “Thank you, Detective Wilde. That’s very helpful.”

“You’re welcome,” Nick replied, clipped.

The fox made to leave, then paused before addressing the meerkat reporter. “About that press conference. Maybe next time start with a hello before you gut me? Makes your claws easier to dig out of my intestines. “

“Ha, ha,” Ada replied sarcastically, but with growing warmth. “Will do, Detective.”

Finally, he turned to Judy. “It’s good to see you Judy. I always thought—” Nick trailed off. “Well. It’s good to see you.”

Then he was gone, back through the doors of the Zootopia Police Department as day yielded to twilight and the electricity kicked in, the parking lot engulfed measure by measure in yawning pools of light.

Ada knew better than to press Judy but she could feel the meerkat’s eyes boring holes into the back of her head as she helped Ralph break down the equipment. Judy shared nothing.

Then they were done and Ada and Ralph loaded up into the livetruck to edit the 10 p.m. package.

Judy bid them goodbye, pocketing Ada’s knowing look that meant a conversation later. She clambered back into Unit 13-not-3 and headed back to the station.

Driving down the Inner Loop at a much more sedate pace, Judy completed Nick’s sentence in her mind:

I always thought I’d be the one calling _YOU_ officer, Hopps.

Shira was in bed when Nick arrived home. It didn’t surprise him anymore.

He debated the idea of taking a shower, then rejected it. Before marriage he would have wished to shower before bed. But after months of living with Shira like this, he just didn’t feel like it. Nick quietly exchanged his uniform for soft pajamas and a T-shirt. Right now, he was not Detective Wilde. He was just Nick, a fox and husband who didn’t know how to make his vixen happy.

The nightstand was littered with the remains of an Arby’s chicken sandwich meal. Nick trashed the wrapper and empty drink cup in the kitchen wastebin. The sink was empty and bone-dry. Nick opened the refrigerator. He sighed.

Shira in a moment of good cheer last week had gone on a grocery shopping spree at Owldi, determined to start cooking at home.

Then, a Tupperware of leftover gnocchi went uneaten by them both. Shira stopped getting out of bed.

A Styrofoam tray of rapidly dulling raw chicken she had bought was still in its wrapper, along with a wilted bag of produce untouched in the crisper drawer. He trashed those too.

His wife’s fur was lank when he got into bed. Shira hadn’t bathed like she promised she would before he left for work that morning. He pressed his nose against her neck and held her all the same, the events of the day churning through his mind. He tried to push them away.

She was awake. He knew. But he didn’t say anything. It was the only thing he knew how to do right, anymore.

Nick was about to drift off when her paw closed over his.

“I want to go home,” Shira whispered in the dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Owldi = Zootopia's version of Aldi, a grocery store of amazingness.


End file.
